


Colors

by catholic_Gansey



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, Chris is Jewish, Explicit Language, Friends become family, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Major Character Injury, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Neil Perry Lives, Parent-Child Relationship, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Poetry, Religious Content, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Teen Angst, Therapy, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, endgame is everyone healing and growing up to become strong individuals, most of the boys are Catholic, mostly-off screen abusive relationship, romantic relationships are probable but not endgame, wacky teen hijinks, yes you read that correctly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-10-08 18:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10392948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholic_Gansey/pseuds/catholic_Gansey
Summary: In which Neil, presumed dead, actually survives his suicide attempt. But the Dead Poets soon realize surviving and living are very different things. Learning to live again after deciding to die is an enormous task for anyone, but Neil isn't just anyone. Neil is a Dead Poet, and Dead poets don't just live: they suck the marrow out of life, they scream their verse of the powerful play, they dream the world anew, and they dare to be colorful men and women standing in a sea of sitting gray.





	1. Pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this project as a gift for some friends of mine who struggle with mental illness. They said they saw parts of themselves reflected in Neil Perry, and I figured it would do them a lot of good to get to see him heal, to witness Neil win the same battle they themselves are fighting. So I started writing this, and, at their request, I'm putting it on here now, for you all. I hope this can bring some of you some hope and peace. I also hope it makes you laugh, or smile, or want to go do something stupid and fun. I tried to be true to the movie, both in characterization and vibe, so this should be equal parts serious content and funny teenage jokes/secret society hijinks.
> 
> Unless stated otherwise, all poetry is original poetry by me. Please do not steal it, especially considering it's not very good outside of the context of the story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is gray and black  
> and white  
> But I am in color.

_The world is gray and black_   
_and white_   
_But I am in color._

It was a simple poem. Not even a poem, really; more of a flowery sentence. Todd almost scratched it out, but then thought better of it. He was drawn in color now.

Todd Anderson was in color because today, a sweaty-toothed madman had stared into Todd's soul from the picture in the front of the classroom as Mr. Keating was ordered out, and the little voice that was Todd had told Todd to stand up for the Truth and slap the guilt off Mr. Keating's face. And today, for the first time in his life, Todd had listened. His resistance in English had lit a fire in Todd's chest. It glowed all the brighter when he saw how it lit the wicks of his classmates--they were in color now, too.

The flames and the hues were a shitty consolation prize for the black and white, though.

Todd Anderson's world was in monochrome because five days ago, Neil Perry had died.

The fact of it was a constant, everlasting ache in Todd's chest. All the Dead Poets saw the world in black and white now, but it was no secret Todd was the most affected of them all. He had been the closest to Neil, with, perhaps, the exception of Charlie, who had been Neil's best friend long before Todd had arrived at Welton. But it was Todd who had to look at a bare mattress where there had once been quilts that smelled of Neil, and empty bookshelves that had been full of Shakespeare and Dickinson and Thoreau, and a wardrobe that had been half full with Neil's clothes. It was Todd who had lived with him, and it was Todd who now had to live without him.

Todd had to get out of this room.

Todd grabbed his coat and barreled through the door. He didn't really know where he was going until he arrived there: the telephone. He stood before it. Who was he going to call? His parents? His friends from his old school? Ha. He hadn't any friends at his old school. Everyone he loved outside his family was either at Welton or dead, and his family couldn't tell him anything he didn't already know.

But Neil's family could.

Todd paged through the student directory on the table beneath the phone until he found the Perry family landline. His hands shook as he dialed the phone. He shoved him in his pockets as it rang.

And rang. And rang. Todd had almost given up when a voice answered on the other line:

"Mrs. Perry. How may I help you?"

"M-Mrs. Perry, my name is Todd Anderson. I'm-I...I go to Welton Academy."

"Oh." Told waited for Mrs. Perry to elaborate. She didn't.

"I'm very sorry for your loss." Nothing. He plowed on.

"I was...I'm...Neil and I were...were very good friends, and I am--we've been...we--Neil's close friends--we've been trying to grieve. And...it's hard, because...we don't really understand what happened. Or--we don't fully understand why it happened."

Mrs. Perry did not reply.

"So...I was wondering if you might be willing to meet. To talk. I understand this must be a very difficult and painful time for your family. It's a painful and difficult time for me too. And, and I think it will be less painful for both of us if we have a clearer understanding of why."

"Mr. Anderson, I appreciate your condolences, but I don't know..."

Todd could feel his old, colorless self trying to drag him down into quiet desperation again. He willed the fire in his belly to burn that instinct away.  
Carpe diem.

"Ma'am. I understand. I truly do. You don't want to talk to anyone about Neil right now. Neither do I. Right now, he's curled up behind my breastbone, adding fifty pounds to my heart, and every time I breathe, he squeezes the breath right back out of me. But if I don't talk about him, I-I can pretend he's going to walk right in those doors on his way to Chemistry class, or that he'll come biking up the road on his way back from play practice."

Mrs. Perry's breath caught on the other line.

"But ma'am, I know this: I will never sleep right again if I don't understand why Neil shot himself. I might never sleep right again at all, but I know there's no chance of it if I have to live with the weight of Neil and the weight of wondering on my chest."

There was a long pause. Todd realized that was probably the most he had ever spoken in one go. He realized, too, that at one point in there he had declaimed poetry without even realizing it. The thought hit him like a brick in the face. Color indeed.

"...Can you get here before four-thirty and be gone by seven?"


	2. Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say stone cold  
> But these wooden walls  
> Chill me like they chilled you  
> To the bone

 

The Perry family home was larger than Todd expected. After all Neil's talk about how his family wasn't rich like Charlie's, and how his dad had sacrificed to put him in Welton, he'd been expecting something smaller than this two-story pseudo-classical work of polished oak. True, it was nothing like the monstrous Dalton home, or Todd's own suburban mansion. But still, if this was sacrificing, the Perrys had it pretty good.

Maybe, thought Todd as he waited on the front doorstep, Mr. Perry had sacrificed for Neil in other ways. Time, fancy vacations, hobbies. A dream, perhaps. 

The door opened. On the other side of it stood a gray woman dressed in black. Though he could not say why, Todd was frightened by her eyes. 

"You must be Todd," she said. 

He nodded. She opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

As she led him through the halls, Todd noted the lack of photographs or childish artwork. The walls of the Anderson family home were lined with pictures of Jeffery and Todd and Jeffery's awards. They even had Jeffery's valedictorian speech framed on the wall opposite Todd's room.

She led him to the living room and motioned from him to take a seat on a small sofa opposite hers. Behind her, a large painting of a grand Western cliffside hung over the cold fireplace.

Mrs. Perry politely offered tea. Todd politely accepted. Todd opened his mouth and shut it again several times, before he finally managed:

"Th-Thank you for having me here, Mrs. Perry."

"You're welcome."

There was another long pause.

"You're one of the...dead poets society boys, aren't you?" Mrs. Perry said at last. "You signed that paper saying Mr. Keating was responsible for my son's death."

Todd swallowed. "I...I lied."

Mrs. Perry nodded thoughtfully. "And the other boys?"

"They lied too."

"How much was a lie? Some of it had to be true."

Damn Cameron. "I...it...None of it, but all..?" Dickinson swooped into Todd's mind to save his ass. "It was the truth, but--slanted. We had a club, Mr. Keating did inspire us, but...it wasn't...it wasn't like it said on the paperwork. All--All Mr. Keating did was teach us poetry, and the meaning behind it. He, he taught us how to think for ourselves and be our own men, and to seize the day. And the club...that was just us reading poetry to each other. And making our own poetry. And being friends."

Mrs. Perry was staring at him, hard.

"Oh, geez, I mean, I--I meant...What I mean is that Mr. Keating is, is the opposite of responsible for Neil's suicide. Mr. Keating taught us to suck the marrow out of life. He taught us to love living. Nothing he ever said would have led Neil to stop--" Todd took a shaky breath. "To stop."

Mrs. Perry nodded. He had gotten his point across. Todd wondered if it had been poetry. 

"And the Dead Poets' Society was about that. About living life. And living it well," said Mrs. Perry. Todd blinked. 

"Yeah."

"Tell me about my son's involvement with this club."

Todd looked her in the eye. He could see Neil there, but not the Neil he knew. As Todd had suspected, the Dead Poets and the Perrys each knew one half of a whole Neil. And the Dead Poets knew the colorful half. Mrs. Perry didn't bring him here for answers--or at least, not just answers. She brought him here for a glimpse of who her son was when he wasn't her monochrome Neil.

So Todd drank his tea and told Mrs. Perry how Neil had started the club, how Neil led the club, how Neil was the club.

She wanted more.

He told her how the club gave Knox the courage to pursue Chris, gave Charlie courage to pursue radical truth, gave Todd the courage to pursue his voice. How it gave Neil the courage to pursue acting.

"So Keating and this club _were_ the reason why Neil joined the play?" 

"No. _Neil_ is the reason Neil joined the play. He told me--he told me he'd always dreamed of acting. Told me he tried once, but his dad made him quit. Neil was too afraid of what his father would say to pursue his passion. Doing this club, gave him the courage to do what his heart was begging him to do. It gave him the courage to be the person he'd always been."

"Did he love acting?"

"It was everything to him."

Mrs. Perry took a long sip of tea. "The play's the thing."

Todd started. "You-you know Shakespeare?"

"I loved Shakespeare." Loved. Past tense. Mrs. Perry's eyes met Todd's, and he understood why hers terrified him. She was a funhouse mirror of Todd. She was Todd, if Todd had let Mr. Keating walk out of the room blaming himself for Neil's suicide. She was a Todd who had let the flame pass her by and had lived her whole life in monochrome, had married a monochrome man, and let him force her son into a monochrome life and death.

The Neil in her chest was all fear and regret and every gray moment that led him to the gun in his father's office. 

The Neil in Todd's chest sang _carpe diem_.

"Mrs. Perry...what happened after the play, the night Neil shot himself?"

Mrs. Perry stared very hard into her teacup, and she told him. She told him every detail preceding Neil's death: the argument, the military academy, Neil's silence after begging for a chance to speak. Mr. Perry being woken by a thump from downstairs. And everything after: their frantic search for Neil, the horror of finding him, her frenzied denial. 

"I kept saying, 'he's not dead, he's not dead'. I-I even got the first aid kit out of Mr. Perry's desk and sewed the wound shut. It stopped the bleeding, but he was already...he was already gone."

They drank their tea in silence for several minutes. Todd's fingers clenched his teacup so hard he thought he might break it. His heart thudded and shuddered, and his breathing was unsteady from Neil squeezing in his lungs.

"Well, Todd," she said at last. "You have all the puzzle pieces now. Why did Neil die?"

She may have been gray, but her eyes were rimmed with red.

Todd hated how his answer sounded in his head, but he didn't have another one. "Thor-Thoreau once said, 'most men lead lives of quiet desperation'. Neil... Neil didn't want to live that way. So he... He chose not to."

Quoting someone else was a cruel answer to a mother's grieving plea for an explanation, but it was less cruel than saying she and her husband were responsible.

Mrs. Perry nodded, and then she began to cry. 

They were quiet tears, a trickle of greywater, salt in her teacup. Todd awkwardly stood to come and comfort her, but she looked up briefly and shook her head. 

Todd sat back down.

When she was done, Mrs. Perry wiped her eyes and looked at the clock on the mantle. 

"Oh, six-thirty. You'd better be going."

Todd did need to be going. Dinner was at seven. "I...I can stay if you need me," he said.

Mrs. Perry shook her head again. "Mr. Perry will be back from the airport with Neil's grandparents at seven. It's best you were gone by then."

"Here--" he took the other teacup and saucer from her shaking hands and carried it into the other room for her. Unlike stiff, shiny, veneer of the rest of the house, the kitchen was a bit outdated.

"Neil's grandparents flew in from Wisconsin for the funeral," she explained as she led him to the door.

Todd frowned. "The funeral...hasn't happened yet?"

Mrs. Perry shook her head. "We wanted to wait for Joanne and Barry to be there, and it's not easy--or cheap--to get from Wisconsin to Vermont on short notice, and today was the earliest they could get here. The funeral is tomorrow."

Todd turned to face her, eyes pleading.

There was a moment's hesitation. "We'll bury him in St. Timothy's church cemetery. The service is at noon." She opened the door for Todd. 

"And yes, you may bring the other poet boys."

"Thank you," said Todd. "Thank you, ma'am."

"It's only right you attend the funeral."

"Not just that. Thank you for--for everything."

"You're welcome, Todd."

Todd wrapped his scarf tight around his face and mounted his bike. Just as he was about to leave--

"And, Mr. Anderson," she said.

Todd turned around. Fresh tears gleamed in Mrs. Perry's eyes.

"Thank you, Todd."


	3. Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> World is crying  
> World is laughing  
> Clouds are looming  
> Sunlight blooming

 

St. Timothy's church echoed with Latin. Thanks to Hellton, Charlie Dalton could understand about half the Mass. Everyone, though, understood the general message:

_Goodbye, Neil Perry. Godspeed. We pray you're not in Hell._

Charlie was surprised by how few people were there in the church. When his cousin Georgiana had died in a car crash, three hundred people showed up for her funeral.

 _Funerals for the young always attract big crowds_ , his mother had said.

Not this funeral. Neil's family had never been big to begin with; only his parents, his two surviving grandparents, and about thirty aunts, uncles, cousins were in attendance. A dozen or so family friends sat behind them.

Welton had already held a memorial service, and cutting class was a grave misdemeanor, so only Todd, Meeks, Knox, and Pitts felt it worth the risk to attend. (Charlie, newly freed from Hellton, didn't have to worry about any of that.) Even if other students had wanted to, only the Dead Poets knew the funeral plans in the first place.

Cameron was not in attendance; either he decided it wasn't worth his precious time to skip class for Neil Perry's funeral, or the other Dead Poets didn't invite him. 

Charlie didn't ask. 

Behind the Welton boys were the theatre kids. Someone from A Midsummer Night's Dream managed to find out the funeral plans, and so the whole cast and crew was there, all thirty of them, plus the director. The theatre kids cried the loudest, but that didn't say much. The Perry's were an emotionally constipated clan, and the Dead Poets had no more tears left to cry. Charlie didn't, at least. 

A eulogy had already been given at the wake, apparently, and would not be repeated today.

Charlie tried not to choke on the incense. 

The congregation stood: those who had known the living Neil facing those who had known the dying Neil, like the bride's side and the groom's side in some convoluted wedding. The pall-bearers moved forward and lifted the coffin. The other sixty people processed  out of the church behind them. 

Outside, it was too bright. The sun hurt Charlie's eyes like it was July, but it did nothing to help the December air.

It would be Christmas in nine days.

He could almost hear his mother's voice: What do you want for Christmas, honey?

_I want Neil back, mom._

As they marched toward an open tomb, Charlie did what he hadn't done in years.

 _God, give me Neil back. If I only ever get one wish in my life, it's this. I want my best friend back. Please, bring Neil back to me, please,_ please. 

A cold hand slipped into Charlie's. Knox. Charlie turned to look at him. There were tears on his cheeks, and Knox wasn't bothering to wipe them away. The part of Charlie that still cared what his father thought wanted to pull his hand away. Charlie immediately threw the thought on the ground and watched it shatter. 

_I am Nuwanda, I do what I want, I got expelled yesterday for punching someone on principle, and I can hold my friend's hand for emotional support and still be a man._

There was a commotion up by the coffin.

Charlie only caught bits and pieces of the hysteria as the pallbearers lowered the coffin to the ground.

"Are you sure--"

"How long has he been--"

"Somebody call 911!"

"Oh, God, oh Jesus, oh God--"

"What's going on?" Todd's eyes were wide, red, puffy, and sunken all at once. Charlie didn't even know that was possible.

"I have no clue," said Meeks.

Pitts craned his neck. "They're...they're opening the coffin."

"What?" said Meeks.

"I said, they're opening the coffin."

"Yeah, I know what you said, but it's not making any more sense the second time around," said Meeks. "They can't open the coffin, not six days after death! The body probably will have begun bloa--"

Charlie covered Meeks's mouth with his hand.

Pitts jaw dropped.

"What is it?" Todd asked desperately.

Pitts stammered.

"Spit it out!" shouted Charlie.

"He's alive," whispered Pitts, voice cracking.

Charlie didn't understand.

Knox grabbed Pitts by his collar, "Pitts, if you are messing with us, I swear to--"

"YOU HONESTLY THINK I WOULD JOKE ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS, KNOX?"

Understanding dawned.

Charlie let go of Meeks's face and bolted toward the coffin.

"MOVE, I'M HIS BEST FRIEND! MOVE! LET ME THROUGH, I'M HIS BEST FRIEND, I'M HIS BROTHER, LET ME THROUGH!"

Charlie shoved his way through the crowd until he stood staring at the Perry family over the coffin.

On the opposite side of the coffin, Mr. Perry rocked back and forth, crying as he held the limp body of his son. Mrs. Perry sobbed as she gripped Neil's wrist like a vise--taking his pulse. 

Neil looked like hell. His hair was plastered to his face, his skin was clammy and pasty, his nice clothes were drenched in sweat, and he moaned indistinctly.

Charlie felt himself slowly sink to his knees.

Neil Perry looked like a very living sort of hell. 

And then Charlie couldn't see him at all through the tears.


	4. Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you sure  
> That we are awake? It seems to me  
> That yet we sleep, we dream."  
> \- A Midsummer Night's Dream, 4.1.201-203

When Neil wakes up, it doesn't feel like waking up at all. The whole situation feels like something that would happen in a dream: disjointed scenes of everyone he loves at their most extreme, while Neil himself acts as a fixed axis, unable to move or prevent anything. The world around him is a supersaturated whirlwind, but Neil is a sinking stone in muted tones.

But it's real. He knows it's real by the pain in his chest.

Neil shoves all memory to the back of his mind. He cannot answer doctors' questions and think about how the wounds got there at the same time. He cannot talk to anyone and think at all about anything that happened in the past week at the same time. He shoves the storm brewing under his skin aside too--if he thinks about why, he will drown in it.

Neil is alive. He can hear the truth of it beeping on a monitor nearby.

Neil doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about that.

And that's the scariest thing of all.

They let his parents in.

"Neil," says his father, and there's such relief there that Neil instantly feels guilty. His mother says nothing, only holds one hand to her mouth and holds Neil's in the other. He can tell they've both been crying. It occurs to Neil that he's never actually seen his father cry, nor has he seen his father's face red and blotchy like it is now.

"Hi," says Neil. His voice is hoarse from underuse. He has the absurd desire to do the vocal warmups his director taught him. There is a long moment of silence filled with heavy stares as all three of them try and figure out what each other are thinking. Neil realizes they are a family of strangers.

"Neil, your mother and I, we...we thought we lost you. We found you in a pool of blood--"

"Henry--"

"--in a pool of blood, and your chest, you looked--"

"Henry."

"I just....why? Why, son? You had your whole life ahead of you, people who love you. Why would you do this to your mother and I, why would you choose to throw away everything--"

_"HENRY!"_

Both the elder and junior Mr. Perry jump at the sound of Mrs. Perry's shout. Neil has never heard his mother shout, not once in his entire life.

"Henry," she continues in her usual voice, "we are not going to discuss any of that right now. Our son is alive and that is all that counts."

"Dora, we can't act like nothing has changed. Clearly, there is a lot going on here that has to be discussed--"

"--But not right now," says Mrs. Perry. There is a firmness and finality in her quiet tone. "Neil has just woken up. He's undergone a very traumatic experience. We will not talk about it until Neil is ready, and until that time, we will not push the issue."

"But--" Neil could see Mr. Perry would not stop until he got some answer.

"I couldn't go to Braden," Neil croaks. "I couldn't be a doctor."

Silence rings.

"What?" said Mr. Perry finally. Neil could see his statement quickly becoming a cage.

"But--but it was more than that," he hurriedly continues. Neil isn't like Todd. He can't pull poetry out of thin air like a magician; he can't even find simple words to say what he means. Maybe that's he loves acting, and reading poetry--he can bring other people's words and sentiments to life without the struggle of expressing his own. "It was-my entire life has been...you boxing me in, forcing me to be someone I'm not, and I finally tasted what it means--how free--being me, and then you stuffed me back into the box and you were going to send me off to a life that's not mine, where'd be dead--wait that came out wrong--it would be, I wouldn't really be living, I can't--I didn't--I couldn't." Neil is talking too fast, Neil is struggling to breathe.

"Shhh," says Mrs. Perry, smoothing Neil's hair. "That's enough, that's plenty of explanation for today. Get some rest."

"Wait, are you blaming me, Neil?" All the blood had drained from his father's face. "You're blaming me?"

"Henry! Stop talking this instant," saiys Mrs. Perry. "Neil, get some rest. Your father and I have to go over some things with the doctor." This time, Mr. Perry listens to his wife's words and hard look.

"We'll be back, son," says Mr. Perry. Neil can tell it was probably intended to be comforting, but it sounds more like a threat.

A moment after they leave, a nurse bustles in and begins fiddling with the beeping monitor. Neil falls asleep to the sound of her softly cursing his parents for messing with his heart rate.

The next time Neil wakes, his friends are there. Well, not all of them. Meeks is scribbling in a notebook, periodically referring to several loose pages of writing he has laid out on the chair beside him.

Across from Meeks, Pitts sits knitting something green and brown and purple. He is talking quietly with Ginny Danbury, who sits next to him with her script from A Midsummer Night's Dream in her hands.

Knox is pacing slowly, hands tucked in his pockets.

Neil doesn't want to have to talk just yet, so he watches his friends.

"Methinks I see these things with parted eye, when everything seems double," says Ginny.

"Wait, let me think about that one" says Pitts. "So, she's awake, but she feels like she's dreaming?"

"Yeah," says Ginny, "It's like, she sees in her mind the dual reality of what she thinks happened last night, and what's actually happening today.they can't both be true, but she doesn't know which one makes more sense, either. At least, that's I how I interpreted it. I could be wrong."

"No, that makes sense," says Pitts.

Just seeing these people, his people, calms the storm more than Neil thought it would. For the first time in days, he smiles just a bit.

"Okay, okay, I think I've got it," says Meeks, glancing between a paper and his notebook. "So the bullet enters Neil's chest and lodges in his spleen. From what I've been able to squeeze out of the doctors, it didn't hit any major blood vessels. The doctors won't tell me where it lodged, though. They won't even tell me if they surgically removed the spleen."

The smile dripped from Neil's face.

"The spleen is the one that ruptures, right?" says Knox. "The one you can live without?"

"You're thinking of the appendix, Knox," says Meeks, "But yeah, you can live without your spleen. The real problem is blood loss, but according to Todd, Neil's mom took care of that. She staunched the bleeding and stitched up the wound before Mr. Perry convinced her Neil was dead. I'm kind of amazed she was able to do it that fast, or that well."

"I'd imagine her emotional state must have been awful, too," said Ginny.

Neil did not want this conversation.

"She was an army nurse at Pearl Harbor," says Neil.

His friends startle visibly; Meeks drops his papers, Pitts flubs a stitch, and Knox and Ginny jump a bit.

"Neil!" says Meeks. "How-how much of that did you hear?"

Neil looks away and shrugs with a sheepish smile. The action hurts.

"...Your mom was at Pearl Harbor?" asks Knox.

"Yeah," says Neil. "She doesn't talk about it much though. But that's why she's so good with a needle, under pressure and everything." His voice wavers a bit at the end, but Neil tries to hide it.

"You have vocal cobwebs," says Ginny. She walks over and takes his hand, and her words are so exactly what he was thinking that Neil can't help but laugh a little. It comes out breathy and turns into a hiss at the end as pain shoots through his abdomen.

"How do you feel?" asks Meeks.

"Like I got shot in the spleen."

Meeks and Knox exchange a Look.

"...You know, Neil," says Knox, "...you know you don't have to...make light of things. We all know you're not okay. You don't have to pretend like you are."

Neil averts his eyes and swallows hard. After a long moment he says, "Where are Todd and Nuwanda?"

"Todd was talking to one of your nurse when we left him," says Ginny. "Todd's the quiet one, right? Then yeah, the nurse was explaining something to him. Charlie's down in the chapel."

Neil thinks he must have misheard Ginny. "Wait, the nurse was talking to Tod about Charlie Chaplain?"

"No," says Knox. "There's a little multi-denominational chapel attached to the hospital. Nuwanda's in there."

"...Honestly, I still think Charlie Chaplain makes more sense." says Neil.

"No kidding," says Meeks.

"Speak of the Devil," says Charlie, "and he shall appear."

All heads swivel to see Charlie leaning against the doorframe. He is wearing his customary smirk, but his face is blotchy, like he's cried a good deal very recently. He pushes off against the door and comes to stand beside Knox at the foot of Neil's hospital bed.

"It's good to see you again, Neil," he says. Neil has never heard Charlie's voice like this, devoid of any edge. It betrays his vulnerability in a way his face does not.

"It's good to see you, too, Nuwanda.," says Neil. "It's good to see all of you. Did I tell you that?"

"Yeah," says Ginny. "You just did." Neil squeezes her hand.

"Find what you were looking for in the chapel, Nuwanda?" asks Knox.

"Yeah, I think I did," says Charlie, and that's when Neil notices the string of beads Charlie's been rubbing almost absentmindedly. Most of the string is tucked into Charlie's pocket, so Neil can't be certain, but he's pretty sure it's a rosary.

"I never thought you were the praying type," says Meeks.

"I wasn't," says Charlie, "but, you know, the death of your best friend can change a lot of things."

Meeks and Knox exchange a Look. Knox and Pitts exchange a Look. Charlie keeps Neil pinned beneath his gaze. Ginny, a newcomer to this strange group, tries to decipher the unspoken conversations.

"Come on," says Knox. "Let's give them some privacy."

"I--" says Meeks. Pitts shakes his head, and Meeks falls silent. Ginny looks between the boys, trying to read the situation. Pitts takes her hand and nods toward the door. She hesitates, then looks back to Neil with a smile and a squeeze of the hand, and follows the boys into the hallway. Well, all the boys except Charlie.

In the moment of silence that follows, Neil and Charlie can hear the others' voices just outside the door.

"Are you sure--" hisses Meeks.

"No," says Knox. "But clearly Charlie's got some stuff he's gotta get out of his system, better to rip the bandage off now."

"I don't know that that's--" says Ginny.

"Shh! I think thy can hear us," says Meeks, and the voices fall to an indistinguishable murmur.

After a long moment, Neil finally asks, "Is that a rosary?"

"Wha--oh yeah, it is."

"Where'd you get it?"

Charlie walks around to sit in the chair on Neil's left, the one Mrs. Perry had previously occupied. "At St. Timothy's. They were going to bury you in the cemetery there. We all went there for the service--we being the Dead Poets. And your theatre kid friends. And your family and family friends, I guess. Not I guess, I know--I just wasn't really as focused on them as I was on the Dead Poet Society. Minus Cameron."

"Why was Cameron not there?"

Charlie laughed breathily, more of a helpless little sigh than anything. "He's not exactly a Dead Poet anymore."

"Why?"

"He finked. After you died, Nolan needed a scapegoat so Hellton wouldn't get shut down. Good 'ol Dick Cameron gave 'em one--he went to Nolan and twisted the whole semester around so that all this was Keating's fault."

" _What_?"

"Yeah. The worst part is that he believes it-- _he_ went to _them_."

"You're joking."

"Nope."

"So what'd you do?"

"Well, naturally, I socked him in the face."

Neil laughs, a surprised laugh that resurrects the pain in his chest.

"Nuwanda, they can expel you for that!"

Charlie grins. "They did. I'm free."

"Holy shit. And Keating?"

"Fired. They forced Todd and Pitts and Meeks and Knox to sign a thing saying Dick Cameron was telling the truth."

Guilt just keeps coiling tighter and tighter in Neil's stomach.

"But apparently, when Keating came to collect his stuff, Todd found his inner backbone and started shouting about how it was all a lie and how your death wasn't the Captain's fault. And then Nolan started freaking out and tried to get him to stop, and instead, Todd climbed up and stood on his desk and shouted 'O Captain, My Captain'."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah. And once Todd did it, everybody else--not just the Dead Poets, like half the class Neil, people we didn't even know liked Keating's class--stood up on their desks and said it too."

"...Wow."

"Yeah, that was the general sentiment. Keating got all teary-eyed and thanked them, and now the Dead Poets are all...different."

"Different?" Neil asks, apprehensive.

"Stronger. You can see it in their eyes, especially Todd."

Stronger. Todd was stronger when I was gone, thinks Neil. They were all stronger when I was gone. Because I was gone.

Charlie runs a hand through his hair. "You should have seen him when he found out you had died, Neil. He was devastated. We all were. I was."

"You would have moved on," says Neil, and he can tell immediately it was the wrong thing to say.

"No!" Charlie's hand clenches in his hair. His face distorts, and now Neil has a pretty good idea of what Charlie looks like crying, what he looked like being beaten in Nolan's office. "Dammit, Neil, no! We would never have moved on! Every time we talked to one another, it would be hanging over our heads--you would be hanging over our heads. Even if we never saw each other again, I would never go a single day without being reminded of you in some way and feeling the pain of losing you all over again. I know that goes for the others too, even Cameron. Killing yourself would never have removed you from our lives. Instead of being our friend, you would be our ghost."

"I'm sorry, Charl--"

"No, I don't think you are. You don't know what you did to us yet. I don't know what anyone has told you, but whatever you've seen and heard is just the tip of the iceberg! You didn't see Knox shredded with guilt, blaming himself for being so wrapped up in Chris that he never noticed anything was wrong. You didn't see Pitts try to knit--because there was nothing else he could do, nothing he could do to bring you back or make it hurt any less for himself or for any of us--and then botch stitch after stitch because his hands were shaking so bad. You didn't see Meeks go thirty-six hours without sleeping, tearing through book after book trying to find a loophole that would let you live. You didn't see Todd vomit in the snow, or run down the hill toward the lake screaming your name, or collapse onto the frozen pond and sob for a half hour. You didn't see me sob like a baby, then take my sax into the woods and smash it to pieces and the smash the pieces to pieces. Knox isn't the only one, we all blame ourselves. We all felt like World was ending, and we didn't even know how to grieve you without you there to give us direction. You have no clue, Neil."

There are fresh tears in Charlie's eyes. He wipes them away roughly.  
Neil closes his eye and averts his face. I can't even die without causing more problems, he thinks.

"I'm sorry, Ch--Nuwanda," says Neil finally. This time there is no disguising the tremor in his voice. "I never intended for any of that to happen. I wasn't thinking about any of that when I did it."

"I know." says Charlie. "It's...I forgive you."

"I'm sorry," Neil says again, this time looking him in the eye.

"I forgive you," says Charlie again. "And...I'm really sorry. For...this whole conversation. I mean, it was all true, but it should never have gone down like this, yelling at you as soon as you woke up."

Neil breathes a shaky laugh that sounds a lot like crying. "Yeah. I forgive you though," he says, although it does nothing to calm the storm.

There is a knock on the door.

Charlie and Neil exchange a Look. "Come in," Neil calls.

Todd Anderson pokes his head in the doorway. "Is Nuwanda done being an asshole?"

"Nuwanda is never done being an asshole," says Charlie.

"Well, is Nuwanda done making bad choices about how to approach our emotionally fragile and likely traumatized friend today?" says Meeks, out of sight.

"Yeah, pretty much," says Charlie. He stands and turns to Neil and says, "I could have summed this up a lot better. My point is that you're my best friend, I love you more than I can say, you dying was by far the worst thing that ever happened to me, and you coming back to life was the best thing that ever happened to me. You being alive and being my friend as a general, ongoing event is the best thing that ever happened or happens to me."

"I...thank you, Nuwanda." The storm doesn't quiet, but it gets a little bit brighter, fat raindrops glistening in the faint sunlight as they whip around his head. Nuwanda leaves the room, and Todd Anderson enters.

Todd looks small set against the big white walls. He still slouches, and inclines his head, but the fear that had always lived in his eyes has been replaced with...something else. Something stronger. Those eyes search Neil's face, and Neil wonders what Todd finds there.

There is a long pause.

"Neil." Todd says his name like it's the most important word in the English language.

"Todd."

"Neil." Todd starts to move toward him, then stops himself. "Neil, I--do you want a hug?"

Once Todd says it, Neil realizes that is exactly what he wants. The lack of physical affection has left him unmoored in this hurricane, and he'd be swimming a lot better right now if someone--his mother, Meeks, Ginny, Charlie, anyone--had given him something more to hold onto than a hand.

"Please," says Neil.

Todd breathes a nervous laugh and makes his way to left side of the hospital bed. "Alright. So, the nurse gave me some very specific instructions for how to do this without hurting you, so...just hold still."

"Um, okay?"

"Uh, is it okay if I lay down on the bed next to you?" As soon as he says it, Todd's face goes red. "I know it's weird, but the nurse said it's the only way to give you a proper hug without hurting your chest."

"Do what you have to do," says Neil.

After an awkward minute or so of maneuvering, Todd ends up lying on his side, with one arm under Neil's neck and the other holding Neil's torso, careful to stay clear of the wound. It's a very strange and uncomfortable embrace.

It's the best hug Neil's had in his whole life.

"Thank you," he breathes.

"Neil?" says Todd, voice thick with trying not to cry.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really, really grateful you're alive."

"So am I," says Neil.

The storm breaks, and Neil begins to cry.


	5. Pt. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loss, labor, all that renders life  
> A scene of suffering and of strife,  
> May fill my mind with anxious care  
> But shall not crush me with despair [...]  
> E'en the deepest grief will lose a pain  
> If solaced by that sweet refrain ;  
> And angry feelings in the breast  
> Beneath that spell will sink to rest.  
> ~ The Lark, Fireside Poems

Steven Meeks was angry.

This was a simple cause-and-effect anger, the cause being Charlie Dalton yelling at Neil Perry for attempting suicide. To be fair, everything Charlie said was correct. Neil's death had torn them all apart. Neil should not have done it. Meeks had stayed awake for more than thirty-six hours in a vain attempt to find a scientific way Neil could have survived a gunshot wound to the head (only to discover later that Neil--for reasons still unknown to Steven--had actually shot himself in the chest). And if Meeks was being honest with himself, he knew that these were all things Neil did need to hear.

But he certainly did not need to hear them like this, and he didn't need to hear them right now. Doing so could potentially damage Neil's mental and emotional state, which Meeks knew was probably already in terrible condition. 

So yes, Steven Meeks was angry.

And as a direct result of that anger, when Charlie Dalton exited Neil Perry's hospital suite, Steven Meeks grabbed him by the collar, dragged him down the hall until they were out of Neil's earshot, and slammed him against the wall. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" hissed Meeks.

"I wasn't," said Charlie. He didn't break eye contact with Meeks. For anyone else, that would have coded for petulance and pride. But Meeks knew that Charlie would rather let him see the regret in his eyes than look away in shame, and so Meeks released him.

Meeks ran a hand through his hair. The others caught up to them.

"I can't believe you did that," said Pitts, "I cannot believe you did that."

"Well if you heard our whole damn conversation," said Charlie, "then I'm sure you heard my apology at the end, so stop going on about it."

"You really think an apology is going to make it better?" said Knox. "'I'm sorry' isn't going to take back what you said, Nuwanda."

"Or how you said it," said Meeks.

"Hell," said Knox, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I just hope this is damage we can undo."

"Or maybe," said Charlie, straightening his jacket, "I just saved his goddamn life by telling him how much he means to us. Ever think of that?"

"Good point. I just wonder if Neil got that message when you were yelling at him," said Meeks.

"What's done is done!" Pitts silenced the other boys. "And we can't change it none."

"Ginny wants us," said Knox. Meeks looked down the hallways to see that Ginny Danbury was indeed waving her hand at them in a "come here" fashion. 

"Listen," she whispered when they returned to Neil's hospital door. "He's crying."

"Neil?" asked Pitts.

"Yeah," said Ginny.

"That's," said Knox, "that's a good thing, right?"

All eyes turned to Meeks. "Yeah, I think so," he said. "He needs to let out his emotions."

"Is Todd still in there?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah," said Ginny.

"Asshole alert, three o'clock," said Charlie. They turned to see Mr. Perry rounding the corner, Mrs. Perry at his side. The teenagers dashed round the corner before Neil's parents could catch sight of them.

"I'm telling you Dora, he's being dramatic. We gave him the opportunity to speak to us the other night, and he said nothing!"

"You could see in his eyes Henry, there was something he wanted to say. I could see it. I know you could too."

"But he didn't say it, did he? He chose to act out instead of talking to us about his grievances."

"Henry, think about the past sixteen years. Have we--have you--once given him an opportunity to speak for himself, before the night of the play? No! I can't think of one time--"

"Then when he got the chance, wouldn't he have--"

"No! Not if he felt like he couldn't! Not if he felt like we wouldn't listen to what he had to say!"

"So instead, he decided to talk to us by taking the most drastic display of theatrics possible. He chose to punish us for what he perceived to be a bad parenting job?"

"No, Henry! Didn't you hear him? He was trying to escape from what he thought would be a miserable future. You took away everything he loved--without even consulting me, I might add."

"It's because of that damned acting, making him think dramatics like this are an acceptable way to--" 

"Henry, that's simply not true!"

"How do you--"

"Henry listen--"

"No, I am the--"

"Henry, listen. He's crying."

The hall fell silent. Finally, Meeks could hear Neil sobbing. 

"Todd, Todd I was...I was in...I was in a freezer for five days, Todd."

Refrigerator, thought Meeks. If it had been a freezer he'd have died of hypothermia. The guy at the funeral home called it a cooler.

"I'm going in there," said Mr. Perry.

"No!" said Mrs. Perry. "Don't you see? That should be us he's crying to! This is what I keep trying to tell you, Henry. We went in there earlier and Neil didn't say anything. But this is how he's really feeling. And he didn't feel comfortable sharing that with us--you know why? Because we didn't let him. You demanded answers from him the moment he woke up, and then we left. Did we once ask how he felt, whether he was scared? No. But he's got someone in there he does feel like he talk to honestly and he's crying. He's telling him what scared him this whole past week."

After a long moment of silence, Mr. Perry replied: "Dora are you saying...are you using this incident right here as a metaphor for our son's entire life?"

"Yes."

The hall fell silent.

Inside the room, Neil was still crying.

Knox turned his back to the wall and slid to the ground, where he sat with his eyes closed. The other teenagers soon followed. Charlie sat staring at the rosary in his hands. Pitts resumed knitting. Ginny stared at the ceiling. Meeks wrote down his observations from the Perry's' conversation, for later reference. 

"It's going to be alright," Todd said.


	6. Pt. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's the hap-happiest season of all  
> With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings  
> When friends come to call  
> It's the hap-happiest season of all"  
> ~ It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

When Pitts had started knitting Christmas presents for his friends, he never imagined they would be celebrating in a hospital room, but the Dead Poets made it work.

Charlie stole three full strings of multicolored Christmas lights from his house ("My mother will never notice, the place is so damn huge"). Meeks brought the duct tape. They wrapped the lights around everything: the walls, the ceiling, the bed, the beeping thing hooked up to Neil. They tried to wrap the lights around a laughing Neil until the nurse threatened to kick them out. With the overhead lights off, and the Christmas lights on, the hospital room was surreal, like a strange and magical version of the Old Indian Cave.

The remainder of The 1959 Overstreet Candy Stash was dumped out on Neil's lap. 

"It's December, how do you still have this much candy left?" asked Neil. With the aide of several pillows and one Charlie Dalton, he was mostly sitting up. The two of them didn't really fit on Neil's hospital bed, but Pitts suspected Charlie liked the balancing act.

"I ration it," said Knox. "My Christmas candy haul has to last until Valentine's Day--" Knox paused for his friends' mockery.

"Oooooh," said Todd.

"Chriiiiiis," moaned Charlie, in an imitation of Knox's voice.

"Where were you even getting Valentines Day candy before Chris?" said Meeks.

"I bet he found a girlfriend every year just to justify the candy," said Pitts.

"Were you a candy gold-digger in middle school, Knox?" asked Neil.

"Shut up, you guys, my mom gave it to me," said Knox. It was the wrong thing it say.

"Oh, ho ho! Did she now?" said Meeks, wiggling his eyebrows.

"There's some real Oedipus shit going down at the Overstreets'," said Todd.

"Does your father know about this candy stash, Knox?" said Neil.

"I would have you know, your mom gave it to me last night," said Charlie.

The boys were still laughing when a quick rap was heard from the door.

"It's the nurses, hide the candy!" said Pitts. The boys pounced on the candy immediately.

When none was left on the bed, Neil called, "Come in!"

"Sorry to interrupt, boys, I just have to check Neil's vitals," said a pretty young nurse. The lights played enchantingly off her cedar-brown skin and black curls. Pitts yanked his gaze away and focused on keeping making sure the candy in his lap was concealed.

"Wow, you boys sure fixed this place up," said the nurse.

"Yes, we did, ma'am," said Charlie. Pitts heard more than saw his smirk.

"Virginia," said the nurse.

"Virginia," said Charlie, smiling.

"Well," said Virginia, "that about does it! You guys have a good night."

"Wait!" said Meeks. "Do you know when Neil will be getting out of the hospital?"

"Not quite," said Virginia.

"Any idea?" Meeks prodded.

"Well...," she said. "Okay, don't quote me on this, but I think it may be roughly two weeks, at the earliest. Trauma wounds are hard recoveries, plus Doctor Santiago is still worried about frostbite."

"Will I be able to go back to school in January?" asked Neil.

"Welton? Now that may be a question for your therapist."

"Alright, thank you Virginia," said Neil.

"Merry Christmas, boys," said Virginia.

As soon as she left, candy emerged from under the bed, under legs, undef Neil's blankets, and under Charlie's shirt.

"Therapist?" asked Todd.

"Yeah," said Neil, carefully unwrapping a candy cane. "My parents found me a therapist to deal with all the...mental stuff that led to The Incident."

"Really?" said Meeks. "That's good! That's really good. That means you can start getting better."

"I guess so," said Neil. "He's really cool actually--fought in World War I, so he knows all about the traumatic event stuff, and he's really forward-thinking about, you know, depression and suicide and stuff. He's not patronizing, and he actually listens to me, which is nice."

"That is nice," said Charlie. He tightened his arm around Neil's shoulder a bit. "Now that the shit's hit the fan, you can air it out."

"That doesn't even make sense, Nuwanda," said Neil, with a little helpless laugh.

"So it must be poetry," said Todd. Charlie snapped his fingers and pointed at him.

"Psh," said Meeks. "You never meant for that to be poetry. You just said nonsense and let Todd save your ass."

"That too," said Charlie. The boys laughed. 

"So your nurse is really pretty," said Pitts when the laughter died.

Neil blinked. Then blinked again. "Uh, yeah. I guess so."

"You guess so?" said Knox, "She's gorgeous, Neil!"

"Hey, what happened to Chris?" said Todd.

"Chris is in Connecticut," said Charlie. "Virginia, however, is in Vermont." They laughed.

"What's Chris in Connecticut for?" asked Pitts. 

"Celebrating Hanukkah with her extended family," said Knox. "And hey, I said Virginia is gorgeous. Chris, in the other hand, is the most beautiful woman in the world. Chris makes Venus look ugly. So--"

The other boys groaned.

"On that note," said Pitts, getting up and dragging over from the corner a duffel bag he'd brought with him. "I have Christmas presents for you all."

Exclamations of surprise ensued.

"I thought we weren't doing presents," said Neil. 

"I didn't get you guys anything," said Todd.

"No, no," said Pitts. "I just--you know how I knit when I get stressed out?"

"Yeah?" said Todd.

"Well, I only really got the confidence to do that in front of other people this year, you know, because of carpe diem. You guys are the first friends I've ever had who know I knit. Well, I take that back, you the only friends that know I knit and don't make fun of me for it."

Pitts scanned his friends' faces. They were listening raptly.

"So around November, I decided to start channeling my knitting into something I could share with you guys. As a thank you. Or a...love token? Geez, that sounded wrong--not like that. You guys are my brothers, and I wanted you to know that."

"Gee, Pitts," said Charlie. "I'm touched." There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

"That means the world, Pitts," said Neil.

"You're my best friend, Pittsie," said Meeks, smiling wholeheartedly. "You know that."

"You're my brother, too," said Knox.

"Our brother," said Todd, swallowing hard. "The Dead Poets are family."

"Anyway," said Pitts, tears welling, "here's your presents."

He distributed hand-wrapped packages of various sizes. 

"Oh geez," said Todd, holding open both arms to clumsily take hold of a thick package larger than his entire upper body.

"Okay, let's open them one at a time," said Meeks. 

Knox unwrapped his first.

"A scarf," he said. 

"Unfold it," said Pitts. Knox gasped. The words CARPE DIEM were emblazoned in gold across the red banner of the scarf. He immediately put it on. 

Meeks received a pair of mittens, in which the portion that covered his fingers was actually a tiny hood that could be pulled back to expose his fingers.

"So I can actually use my hands for things when I'm outside! How did you know?" asked Meeks.

"You were complaining about gloves when we were working on the radio," said Pitts.

"Thank you!" he said, and hugged Pitts. 

Neil's package was the smallest. It was a green hat, with a design of brown lines and purple dots along the bottom half.

"It's my Puck crown," said Neil, his face dazed with either sorrow or wonderment. "How did you--"

"Ginny helped me," Pitts said.

"Wow..." said Neil, turning it round.

"You like it?" asked Pitts.

"I love it!" said Neil. "Come here." Pitts leaned over Charlie so Neil could hug him awkwardly about the neck.

Charlie said something, but it was muffled by Pitts's sweater. Neil let go and Pitts sat back down. "What'd you say, Nuwanda?"

"I said get off me," said Charlie.

"Open yours next," said Pitts.

"If you insist." Charlie tore open the wrapping. 

"Oh, yeah, baby!" he said when he saw his gift. "Get red!" He held it up for the others to see. It was a tan sweater with a red lightning bolt in the middle. 

"How did you knot this so fast?" asked Charlie. "I only got red the night of the play."

"I did a lot of knitting the week after the play."

"Ah." said Charlie.

"Todd!" said Neil. "The moment we've all been waiting for! Let's see what's in that huge package!"

"Drumroll please," said Todd. The boys obligingly drummed whatever surface was nearest as Todd pulled off the wrapping.

"I still don't know what it is yet," he laughed when he opened it up. Todd stood and shook the knitted mass out. From the back, it was merely a large tan square. Todd laughed, a full-bellied, snorting sort of laughter. He turned the blanket around, so the others could see the letters knitted into it:

T  
R  
U  
T  
H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, dudes! friend of the writer here, with some apologies for y'all. i was supposed to post her updates regularly, and we both got so busy that we forgot! however, y'all will be getting some regular updates soon. much love! also, consider this a holiday gift.


	7. Pt. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes are glass fortune-teller orbs  
> Dust and lights and  
> Shot-gun smoke  
> Curling behind brown glass  
> Darkness and light tumbling riotously  
> His shipwrecked soul overtaken in a burst of lightning  
> In the wine-dark waves of purple flowers and blood  
> The hands that press up under the waves and pound against the glass  
> Are colorful  
> But the rest is not

"What's that you're writing, there, Todd?" asked Jeffery, glancing over from the driver's seat. Between the black tie parties and the holiday brunches that had filled the Anderson Christmas break, the brothers had found little-to-no time to talk, so Jeffery volunteered for the four hour drive back to Welton. 

Todd started and quickly covered the page. "Nothing."

His older brother rolled his eyes. "Clearly it's something, there's markings on a page. That means it's something. But you don't have to tell me what it is if you don't want to."

The problem with Jeffery was that he really was amazing. The way everybody, including--no, especially their parents, doted on Jeffery while all but ignoring Todd would under any other circumstances made the younger Anderson jealous and resentful. But as things were, Todd could only watch from the sidelines as Jeffery was given the applause he rightly deserved. For his grades (always top marks, National Merit Scholar, top of his class at both Welton and Princeton). For what ever award he had won most recently (eighteen years worth of them lined the walls of the Anderson home). For his athletic skill (goalie and team captain of the Weldon soccer team, he had led his team to state championship twice). For his outstanding compassion for others (record holder for most service hours in the Welton chapter of the National Honors Society). For his hair (thick, golden, legendary). Jeffery was funny, charismatic, chivalrous, confident, popular, and--in spite of all the rest--genuinely humble.

Todd ought to have hated his brother.

Instead, they were best friends. The bright side of Jeffery's angelic nature was that it extended to his little brother. Ever since they were small, Jeffery had cared about Todd more than anyone else did, and unlike pretty much anyone else, took the time to actually get to know him. In turn, Todd shared everything with Jeffery, including his real self.

"It's poetry," Todd said.

"What!" said Jeff, his face wide with a surprised smile. "Poetry? You never told me you wrote poetry!"

"It's kind of a new development," said Todd. "My English teacher last semester was awesome."

"Wait, an awesome teacher?" Jeff laughed. "At Hellton?"

"He stuck out like a sore thumb," Todd assured him.

"You keep using the past tense, Todd-o."

"Yeah. Keating was too good for them. They kicked him out."

"What! I thought thy kept them there forever. Hellton's a life sentence, the only exit is in a coffin."

"That's kind of what happened," said Todd, staring at the trees out the window, "Only the coffin was somebody else's."

"Wait, what?" Jeff's eyebrows were all scrunched up in that way that, For reasons beyond Todd's understanding, Jeff's girlfriend found adorable. "Holy shit, did your English teacher kill somebody?"

"No!" said Todd. "Well actually, yeah, that's basically what the school and Neil's parents are saying."

"What!" Jeff exclaimed. "What do your roommate have to do with your murderous teacher getting fired?"

Todd stared. "Did mom and dad seriously not tell you?"

"They didn't tell me any of this!"

A lump formed in Todd's throat.

Neil shot himself on the tenth of December. Todd's parents were at Welton Academy to help force Todd's signature on the thirteenth. Welton Academy released its students for Christmas break on the twenty-second.

Jeffery arrived home from Princeton on the fourteenth.

Todd explained the events that had led to Mr. Keating's departure from Welton, as well as Neil's miraculous survival. Jeff listened without interrupting. "I would have sent you a letter," Todd finished, "But I really figured Mom and Dad would tell you. I was also counting on getting to actually talk to you over Christmas break, but apparently Mom and Dad had other plans."

"So let me get this straight," the older brother said at last, "Mom and Dad were _there, at Welton,_ to talk you into signing some BS legal thing blaming your mentor for your friend's suicide, _the day before I got home?"_

"Uh-huh."

"And they just--they just didn't tell me? They neglected to bring it up?"

"So it would seem."

"That's...I mean...I just..." Todd felt vindicated, watching the emotion play out on his brother's face. Jeff wore indignation and outrage with far more grace and dignity than Todd could ever pull off.

"I was with them for a whole week," whispered Jeff at last.

"I guess they just didn't think it was important enough to mention," said Todd. He had meant to be wry, but it fell flat.

Jeff growled. Todd understood. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson's treatment of their younger son made Todd sad, lonely and insecure. It made Jeffery angry.

Jeff swallowed. "So how are you doing now?"

Todd started to shrug, then stopped. After a moment, he said, "I don't know. Better, in some ways. The O Captain Incident--that's what Knox is calling it--made me..." _Colorful._ "...stronger. Confident, for once in my life. Okay, maybe confident is the wrong word, but I feel like I _could be_ confident, eventually. Like, I have something worth being confident about."

Jeff turned to Todd with a wide smile that involved his whole face. "That's awesome Todd!"

"Eyes on the road!" Todd yelled. Jeff slammed the break just in time. The other car honked. 

Jeffery was not deterred. "So you finally see how awesome you are. That's amazing, Todd." He glanced at his brother, and saw his face. "But...?"

Todd sighed and rested his head on the window. "Neil's death wrecked me like a car crash." 

Jeff didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

"And then, he came back to life--I mean, he was never dead in the first place, but that's what it felt like--and I was wrecked all over again."

"In a good way?"

"Yeah," said Todd. "But it drained me. Honestly I was kind of glad Mom and Dad packed the week with networking stuff for you, because I could just stay in my room and sleep."

"Wait, you didn't even go?" exclaimed Jeff. "No wonder I couldn't find you anywhere! By New Years' I started to think you were playing hide and go seek with me."

"Sorry about that," Todd laughed. "Next time we can both hide in my room."

Jeff laughed. "Next time, I'll tell them I have something super important, like a week long NHS conference, and I'll pick you up and we'll go to Vegas."

Todd laughed. "I thought they didn't have NHS in college."

"They don't," said Jeff. "But Mom and Dad don't need to know that."

Their laughter was followed by comfortable silence.

"I'm just worried," said Todd after a while. "I don't know what's going to happen when I go back to school."

"What do you mean?"

"Charlie's expelled, Cameron betrayed us, Knox and Chris are...well, I actually don't know what up with them, but it will be different, it will change things."

"And Neil?" said Jeff.

"Neil...he's the one I'm most worried about. I can't believe I didn't know...I didn't see it coming. When I saw him in the hospital, it was like I finally saw him clearly for the first time--" Todd made a split second decision, "--just listen: 'His eyes are glass fortune-teller orbs/ Dust and lights and /Shot-gun smoke /Curling behind brown glass /Darkness and light tumbling riotously /His shipwrecked soul overtaken in a burst of lightning /In the wine-dark waves of purple /flowers and blood /The hands that press up under the waves and pound against the glass /Are colorful /But the rest is not.'"

"Is that...is that your poetry, Todd?" Jeff glanced at him.

"Yeah."

"It's really good! I'm not saying that because I'm your brother, I'm saying it because it's really good. It really is."

"Uh, thanks," said Todd, blushing. He cleared his throat. "So anyway, Neil."

"Sorry, yeah. Neil."

"What scares me the most is that I don't know if he regrets it. Attempting suicide. He said he wouldn't try to kill himself again, so at least there's that. But, like, I don't think he thinks it was the wrong thing to do." Todd's voice was small. "That terrifies me."

"I...that's rough, buddy," said Jeffery.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Todd, you don't...blame yourself, do you?"

Todd was silent for too long.

"Todd, it wasn't your fault," said Jeffery, his diction hard and choppy and intensely clear, "No one can control Neil's actions except--"

"--Except Neil, I know that. I know, I know, I know, Jeffery. That doesn't mean I don't feel like a shitty friend for not noticing. I was his _roommate_ , Jeff, I lived with him. If anyone should have noticed, it should have been me. But I didn't. I thought Neil was this, this demigod. He was loud and he was real--or at least I thought he was--and he knew what he wanted and he just did it. Everybody loved him. I loved him. I had to crane my neck to even see him. I took all that at face value. I should have known after I started helping him with his lines--he's a da mn good actor. A da mn good actor."

"You loved him," Jeffery glanced at his brother. "Past tense."

Todd silently cursed Jeffery. He really was too good a listener. "No, present tense. I love all those guys--Knox, Charlie, Pitts, Meeks, Neil. Cameron too, 'til he went and finked. They're...they're all brothers to me." Todd glanced to his actual brother. "You know I don't say that lightly, Jeff."

"I do know." Jeff seemed far away.

"Don't misunderstand me, though, you're still--"

"Oh, I know, I know," said Jeff, still lost in thought, "I was thinking about Neil, actually. I just wonder...I've been wondering for a while now actually, but I haven't been able to ask you in a letter or a phone call."

"...Ask me what?"

"Todd, are you _in_ love with Neil?"

Todd stilled. He breathed out the air that had got caught in his esophagus.

"You are." said Jeff, looking at Todd. "You are in love with him, aren't you?"

"Yes? No? I don't know." Todd sighed. "I thought I was, back before...before. Then after, I finally saw all this," Todd brandished the notebook, "and I realized, I don't know Neil like I thought I knew Neil. I only know the Neil he's been playacting for us this whole time. I don't know how much of that is the real Neil--a lot of it, I suspect, but still. I don't know. How can you love someone you don't even know? How can you fall for someone if you don't even know them?"

Jeffery considered. "You raise a good point. You raise a fair point, little brother."

Todd closed his eyes and let his head hit the headrest.

"The others, your other friends, do they know?"

"Know Neil?"

"No, you. You and Neil. The fact that you like him."

"You mean, do they know I'm gay?" Jeffery nodded. "Oh hell no."

"Oh."

"What? Were you expecting a different answer?"

"Well," said Jeff, "you said they were your brothers. So far the only person you've trusted with...that particular information is me. Your brother."

"Yeah," said Todd. "And it's going to stay that way. Just because you don't see me any differently because I like guys doesn't mean they won't."

"You might be surprised."

Jeff turned onto Academy Drive. Welton's Circle drive had been covered with snow the last time Todd saw it, but now it was just brown and bare in the January chill.

"Whatever you decide, I'm sure it will be the right decision," said Jeff as he unbuckled. "You know them better than I do."

Jeff waived off the obsequious freshman who offered to help with the luggage, carrying one trunk himself and leaving the other for Todd. "Good luck with your friends. Good luck with...navigating everything. Good luck with Neil. Good luck with classes, too. You've got Benson this time around; he nearly broke me."

"Oh yeah?" Todd grunted, hauling his trunk up the grand staircase.

"The key is to ask him about Machiavelli after class. You'll have to sit through an hour or two of jargon and overexcited hand gestures, but you'll be on his good side forever." 

The Anderson brothers plunked down the trunks as the freshman tugged open one of the heavy oak double doors. Their breath became invisible as warm air drifted out of the building.

"I'll write you more often this semester," Todd said before Jeff could ask. "I'll need the advice."

Jeffery pulled Todd into a tight hug. "I'll pray for you. You've got a lot in your plate this semester. But you can do it, I know you can. You're finally becoming the man you were meant to be, Todd--I can see it on your face. I'm so proud of you."

Todd buried his face in his brother's shoulder. He breathed in once, and then let go. Jeffery stuffed his hands in his pockets, looked Todd up and down once, nodded, and began walking back down the steps.

Todd grabbed one handle of each trunk, took a deep breath, and strode over the Welton threshold once more.


	8. Pt. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For when my outward action doth demonstrate  
> The native act and figure of my heart  
> In compliment extern, ’tis not long after  
> But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve  
> For daws to peck at. I am not what I am"  
> \- Shakespeare, Othello (1.i.60-65)
> 
> * * * * *
> 
> If you shake their hand with a smile calm,  
> They know you were taught your manners  
> If before the shaking you spit in your palm,  
> They know what kind of man you are.

"Thanks for letting me do this," said Charlie, stashing his coat, scarf, and gloves in the backseat of the pale green Plymouth. 

The owner of the vehicle shrugged. "Don't mention it. Any friend of Neil is a friend of mine."

She said it lightly, but Charlie turned to look at her. She stared back at him, breath curling in the cold to match her hair.

Charlie Dalton didn't know what to make of Ginny Danbury. He'd heard a lot about her from Neil, of course; enough to expect a pretty face and a lively personality. He'd seen her in A Midsummer Night's Dream, but that didn't tell him anything except that she was a decent actress. His best idea of her personality came from meeting her at the hospital, when they were waiting for Neil to wake up, everyone at their most vulnerable.

"That-that sounds about right," said Charlie, sticking out his hand. 

Ginny smiled--it was a tilted, earnest, dangerous thing--and shook his hand firmly.

There. Charlie's first friend at Henley.

She tuned to walk into the school, a low, hulking thing of yellow and red brick. Charlie kept pace, walking his bike alongside them and shivering in his new sweater from Pitts.

"Quick question: why did you need to leave your stuff in my car?" Ginny asked.

"My coat has money written all over it," said Charlie. "It's the sort of thing everyone would expect a Welton boy to wear. My father always said first impressions are everything."

"I bet your father would have wanted you to wear the coat," said Ginny wryly.

"Exactly," said Charlie. She flashed her teeth in co-conspiratorial approval.

"So what do I need to know about Henley?" asked Charlie.

"The upstairs bathrooms floor periodically, so most people avoid those," Ginny breathed into her hands to warm her nose. 

"Noted."

"Smoking isn't allowed inside the building, but once you get to the parking lot, you're home free."

"Okay."

"If Mrs. Harther catches you with food in the library, you're dead meat. Speaking of meat, under no circumstances should you ever, ever, eat the cafeteria hot dogs."

"Oh geez."

"Yeah. Let me see your schedule." Charlie handed her the folded paper he'd shoved in his back pocket. She went down the list of classes, giving him tips and warnings for each teacher while Charlie chained his bicycle to the rack.

"And...," she skimmed the list again, "well, I guess that's about it. You'll see for yourself soon enough."

"Thanks, Ginny."

"Any time. She looked him up and down, then folded her arms. "You've got some nefarious plan cooking in that head of yours, don't you?"

"Nefarious?" said Charlie as he opened the door for her. It was hard to look elegantly self-confident when he was shivering so badly.

"I like big words," said Ginny, looking elegantly self-confident as she walked through the door he held open, "And you didn't answer the question, Charlie Dalton."

Charlie smiled--it was a tilted, earnest, dangerous thing--and stepped over the threshold of Henley Hall High School.

"Call me Nuwanda."

* * * * *

The fact that this car ride is only the second most uncomfortable Neil Perry has ever endured is a true testament to the sheer torture of the ride home that fateful on opening night. Even a barometer would be able to detect the incoming storm brewing between the steering wheel and the passenger seat.

At least Father is driving me to Welton and not Braden, thinks Neil. That particular little miracle was the result of much persuasion on the part of Neil and Mrs. Perry, a lengthy talk with Neil's therapist, and a letter from Welton reminding Mr. Perry that his son's 1959-1960 tuition was non-refundable.

"So," Mr. Perry finally breaks the silence, "what classes do you have this semester?"

"Same as last semester," says Neil. "Except for , which is a one-semester course. This semester we have Military History instead."

"And a new English teacher, I presume?"

"...Yes."

"Good."

They ride in stormy silence until they reach Academy Drive.

"You have everything you need, Neil?"

"Yes."

"All your books?"

"Yes."

"Clothes?"

"Yes."

"...Medical supplies?"

"Yeah, I've got that."

"And you're sure your roommate will be able to help you changes your bandages? He won't mess it up?"

"Todd is the roommate, dad. Pitts is the one I'm going to ask for bandage help. He wants to be a doctor."

"So? You're going to be a doctor."

"Well, Pitts actu--" Neil swallows hard, the voice of his therapist chanting 'don't censor your thoughts' in his mind like Latin at Mass. "Pitts actually wants to be a doctor. He's done a bunch of first aid training, so the bandages shouldn't be a problem."

Mr. Perry is silent for just a moment.

Neil knows his parents have talked with his therapist almost as many times as he himself has. Neil has seen the pamphlets tucked into Sports Illustrated and cookbooks, the places they think he won't think to look, pamphlets with titles like "How to Talk to A Suicidal Friend" and "What to Do When Your Child Has Depression". Neil knows his dad is trying. He's trying.

"Neil," he begins slowly, "I know that you--you feel strongly about this acting business. But it's a phase. You've been through these phases before. Remember when you were ten and wanted to play baseball? By the end of the season, your mother and I were practically dragging you to the practices."

"That was different, father. I tried baseball and then by doing it, figured out I didn't like it. Acting is the exact opposite, I--"

"Neil, I am not paying for a Welton education just so you can waste it on a penniless career in acting. I am sending you to Welton so you can make something of yourself, do you understand?"

_He is trying._

"...Yes, father."

Mr. Perry allows the freshman NHS members to carry Neil's things to the double doors.

"I'll see you in two weeks, son." Neil nods. Father and son make eye contact for a strangled moment. Mr. Perry opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. Finally Mr. Perry nods once more, rolls up the window, and drives away.

Neil watches the car go, despising the relief he can hear in the shuddering sigh that escapes from his lips and clouds the January air.

"C'mon, Neil!"

Neil Perry turns to see Meeks and Pitts at the top of the steps, his heavier trunk swinging between them, the smaller boxes stacked on top.

Neil smiles in spite of himself, and climbs the steps into the new climate zone that is Welton.

* * * * *

"We have a new student today! Now, where are you from, Mr. Dalton?" said Mrs. Baddour in Physics.

"Actually, I've lived twenty minutes from here my entire life, Mrs. Baddour. I'm here because I got kicked out of Welton for punching my asshole roommate in the face when he told a bunch of lies that got my favorite teacher fired."

"Would our newest student like to introduce himself to the class?" asked Mr. Whitefield in P.E.

"Hey everyone. The name on the roster is Charlie Dalton, but you all can call me Nuwanda."

"We have a new student joining us this semester--Mr. Dalton, would you please stand?" said Mr. Levinsky in Literature & Composition.

"Oh, Mr. Dalton is my father, Mr. Levinsky. I only answer to Nuwanda."

"Tell us a bit about yourself, Mr. Dalton," said Ms. Herrera in American History. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"My name is Nuwanda," said Charlie. "I make art, woo women, and raise hell."

By lunch, Charlie's name was rebounding off the echoing halls of Henley.

* * * * *

Neil wishes everyone would stop staring.

He keeps his eyes straight forward, face set his usual mask, but today he knows everyone can see through it. When he walks down the hallway, he can hear the whispers, he can see the eyes. And it's hell--

\--for the thirty seconds it takes Knox to find Neil and rush over to him. The eyes don't stop staring, but Neil can pretend he doesn't notice, with Pitts's arm over his shoulders anchors him, Todd's eyes distracting him, Meeks's words cutting through the blood rushing in his ears.

They must feel the eyes, too, but they say nothing. Their huddled, boisterous group is a perfect performance of normalcy. 

Everyone stares at Neil, expecting everything to be different.

Nothing is different, the Dead Poets scream silently.

They are both wrong.

* * * * *

Charlie did his homework at Ginny's house that first day.

"You know, I always imagined this would be easier at a public school," said Charlie, shaking his head over his physics textbook.

"The force of gravity is the same, whether an object is funded by taxpayers or fabulously wealthy alumni," said Ginny thoughtfully.

"But the total mass of homework is greater at Welton," said Charlie.

"Very true," said Ginny. "Probably why my brother couldn't hack it."

"I forgot he used to go to Welton!" said Charlie. "That was, what, five years ago?"

"Six," Ginny circled her answer to number seventeen, "he got kicked out in the sixth grade."

"Was it really because he flunked?" asked Nuwanda.

"Nah," she flipped a piece of hair out of her face, "they caught him smoking in the men's room."

"In sixth grade?" Charlie was impressed.

"Yeah," Ginny laughed. "I'm sure the grades would've got him sooner or later, though." She shook her head. "Even I have no clue what Chris ever saw in him."

"Are they broken up?" asked Charlie.

"Not officially. She's been avoiding him, though. Otherwise, I'd have invited her over today, too."

"Is it because of Knox?"

"No," said Ginny, hair obscuring her face as she bent over her textbook. "Well, sort of. It's complicated."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's complicated, and not my place to tell. What'd you get for number 23?"

"I won't fink, I just wanna know because he's my--"

"What'd you get for 23?" she said louder. They locked eyes for a hard moment.

"394 Newtons," he said.

"Great," she said, scrawling a check mark next to her answer. 

They worked through the next ten problems with little side chatter.

"Is that why Chris sat with us today?" asked Charlie after number 35. "She doesn't seem like a theater kid type. Was that her way of avoiding Chet?"

"Nah, that was her way of being nice," said Ginny, re-adjusting her headband. "Chris knows the kind of power she holds at this school. I mean, it's a shallow and essentially meaningless power, and she knows that too, but still, she's got it, and it's enough to salvage some of your image from the social kamikaze stunt you pulled today."

Charlie digests this. "I didn't ask for her charity."

Ginny shrugs. "No one does. That's just Chris."

"And anyway, it wasn't a kamikaze stunt, I'm just trying to--"

The phones rang. 

"--to put myself out there. Carpe diem. Let them know what they're dealing with, right from--"

"Gin, it's for you!"

Ginny groaned. "Sorry, Charlie, excuse me for a moment."

She pushed herself to her feet and went to answer the phone. Fortunately, the Danburys were wealthy enough that she didn't have to venture further than her own bedroom to do so.

"Hello?" she asked, twirling the phone cord in her hand. Then her face shifted. Her eyes got brighter, her posture straighter. "Neil! Neil, how are you doing?" Charlie's head jerked up. "You sound so much better than the last time I saw you--no, I'm sure it's not just the phone, your voice sounds steadier. You been doing Ms. Turnbocker's exercises? Ha, liar. I see your dad went through with it, didn't he? Thank God. Because I can smell the testosterone through the receiver. Honestly? Your voice sounds...timorous...when you call me from home. Yeah. Well, anyway, you gotta--oh. Yeah, he is, actually, do you wanna talk to him?" She held the phone out to Charlie. "He wants to talk to you."

Charlie stood and took the phone. "Well, this is a delightful surprise."

Neil's voice was tinny through the phone. "We tried your house, but Barbara said you weren't home."

"But I'm sure my cleaning lady didn't tell you to try the Danbury's."  
There was some shuffling, some ruffling of clothing, some muffled protests as someone cursed somebody for stepping on his foot.

"That was my idea, actually," said Knox Overstreet. "After the plan you told me about on Saturday, I figured if you weren't at home, you were either hanging out with your accomplice, or getting beat up by her brother. Seems I was right."

"Well, what--"

There was more shuffling.

"Hey, fellas, what are you doing over there?"

"Hello, Charlie." It was now Meeks's voice drifting coolly through the phone. "Remember that poem we had to read for class last semester?"

"Wait, what?"

"The poem we had to read for class last semester," said Meeks.

"Meeks, we read hundreds of poems--"

"Here comes the Congo, creeping through the black."

Oh.

"Yeah, I know that one," said Charlie carefully, with a glance at Ginny. Her gaze on him was shrewd. "Are you saying we--"

"Cutting through the forest with a golden track," Meeks said.

"...Tonight?"

He could hear Meeks's smile through the phone. "Yes sir."

"When? Eleven?"

"Precisely, old chap. Good talking to you."

The phone hung up.

"The Dead Poets' Society," said Ginny. "That's what that was about, wasn't it? You guys are having a meeting tonight."

Charlie blinked. "You...you don't even know that the Dead Poets' Society is."

"You're right," she said, crossing her arms. "But I want to. I want in."

"Geez, Ginny, you can't just--" Charlie ran a hand through his hair. "How can you say you want in if you don't even know what it is?"

"I know you sneak around at night," she said, eyebrow defiant. "I know your name is "dead", "poet", and "society", all three of which are words with meanings that interest me, especially in the context of the sneaking around at night. Chris told me your friend Knox swore on his "dead poets' honor" that he'd stop being a creep, and so far he's made good on that promise, so that tells me this club means a whole lot to all of you. It means it's something binding and real. I know it got you expelled from Welton, so it's dangerous, or at least the Welton administration thinks it is. I'll bet it has a lot to do that that teacher Neil was always talking about, and probably the roommate Neil was always talking about. The words carpe diem keep cropping up, so I'll go out on a limb and say that's part of it, too. So yeah, I don't know quite what this Dead Poets' Society is, but I have enough clues to know I want in, Nuwanda."

Charlie just stared at her, stunned. She stared back, breast heaving just slightly. Pink was creeping up her neck and down her ears; not a blush like girls in magazines, but the flush of emotion worn on her skin.

"Girls aren't allowed," he said.

"Bullshit," she said.

"They aren't," Charlie crossed his arms.

"Then how come The Dead Poets' Society published a flagrantly belligerent letter in the Welton Weekly demanding girls be admitted at Welton?"

Damn.

"Nuwanda," she added. Ginny spat the syllables--not mockingly, like many of his new classmates--like she knew what the name meant to him. Like she knew that name was tied inextricably from The Dead Poets' Society and everything it stood for; like she knew invoking his true name would force him to give her what she deserved.

"I'll...I'll ask the guys about it at the meeting tonight."


End file.
